


Kind of Perfect

by MachaSWicket



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:31:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1460968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MachaSWicket/pseuds/MachaSWicket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SUMMARY: <i>someday these will be our old days, let's make them worth remembering</i>. Mid-ep/AU for "Look Who's Stalking." Veronica doesn't make it all the way out of the Neptune Grand after Logan's drunken confession.</p><p>ORIGINALLY POSTED:  2006.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kind of Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Written in 2006 and reposted with minimal editing, because I can't get in the S2 headspace with all this delicious POST-MOVIE stuff to play around with. :)

 

Veronica's not entirely sure how she got here.

Not the Neptune Grand, obviously because – duh, alternaprom. She spent quite a bit of time and energy getting dressed, getting pretty, getting over to Wallace's so Butters and Mac could pick them up in that ridiculous Rolls Royce. She knows how she got here in the literal sense.

Which is only tangentially related to how she ended up standing in the lobby, pointless little evening bag half-strangled in her hand, unable to bring herself to take that last step and leave the hotel. Because he said all of those things, and he looked at her _like that_ , and what kind of moron is she to run away from him? Again.

"G'night, V'ronica!" slurs the female half of a tipsy, dressed up couple as they head for the door. She doesn't recognize the voice, but is pretty sure Emily Cameron was wearing that particular shade of puce. Unfortunate.

"Good night," she answers, shivering a bit when a draft teases across her back. She loves this dress (loved the stunned look on Logan's face when he saw it), but it certainly doesn't protect against chills. Which is kind of besides the point. Why is she not following Emily and her date, exactly? Why isn't she heading home, leaving tipsy temptation in his hotel suite with many, many willing bimbos?

And what in God’s name is she doing going back? Opening the pointless clutch, she manages to extricate her Sidekick with far more effort than should be necessary. She wouldn't be using the purse at all if Mac let her accessorize the little black dress with her messenger bag. You'd think someone with revolving Manic Panic streaks in her hair wouldn't be quite so rigid about eveningwear.

Staring blankly at the elevator bank, Veronica tells herself to leave, to put the phone away, to let sleeping, drunken dogs lie. Somebody should’ve mentioned this to her traitorous fingers, which have already pressed "Send."

"Oh, God," she mutters, wrinkling her nose in dread as the phone rings. Can't hang up now, and damn if she can't come up with one single, solitary lie to cover her tracks. Veronica Mars, master actor, able to charm the most unsentimental people with the tilt of her head and a well-delivered sob story, and she's completely stumped.

On the fourth ring, her hand shifts on the phone, because the last thing she needs right now is to hear which trite inspirational quote Logan chose for alternaprom day. Something like, _dance as if no one's watching_ , no doubt. She shouldn't find his ironic messages funny. She shouldn't find _him_ funny, and she should just hang up--

"'Lo? Veronica?"

She's speechless, because how does he know--? Caller ID, and, God, she is _really_ off her game. Probably she should say something, because running out on someone and then prank calling him -- not exactly straight out of the girl handbook.

Or so she's heard. Obviously, no one ever bothered to give her a copy.

The music from his suite sounds tinny and overwhelming, and it kind of hurts her ears, but she can hear him breathing for a moment before he repeats her name. "Veronica."

"I'm downstairs." Okay, seriously. What the hell is she doing? Wincing, she braces herself for the inevitable cutting remark about having better luck finding a john in the bar next to the Camelot.

Logan simply exhales. "I'll be right down."

"Logan--" But he already hung up, and he's on his way down to the lobby, and every single muscle in her body tenses for flight. "Crap." Turning in a tight circle, she barely notices the alarmed look from some pinched-mouth businessman and his expensive hooker as they approach the elevators via a large, Veronica-avoiding arc.

She can't stop staring at the Sidekick, and it shocks her a little to realize that her hands are shaking. She is seriously torn. The safe course would be to run -- again, because she is really very good at it. But she seems to be waiting here for Logan to stumble off the elevator and--

And what? What comes next? Her stomach does a little flip-flop at the possibilities. What can she possibly say to him after his little confession? Sure, it was fueled by champagne and desperation, but for better or worse, she knows Logan well enough to recognize when he's letting her in. He's done it a few times now, which was a hell of a lot more than she's ever done for him. Every single time she decides to trust him, she turns right around and finds another reason to doubt him.

Shelley's party. Lilly's murder. Aaron's secret sex cameras.

Each time, she trusted the evidence instead of her gut, and to make things infinitely worse, she lied to him about it.

Probably the most honest she's ever been with him was the night she ended things, the night she told Logan that she couldn't stay with him and watch him self-destruct. Her throat tightens just remembering the broken look on his face that night. She's run away from him time after time, accused him of raping her, of killing Lilly, of being hell bent on suicide-by-PCHers, but somehow in his mind that makes them an epic love story.

_Epic_.

She shivers just remembering the way he said the word. Are they epic? For months she's told herself that they were over, that they'd never been anything but a chemical reaction, an impulse born from shared trauma.

Tonight, staring at a bank of elevators with her heart in her throat, she is absolutely certain that she was wrong.

They might flame out spectacularly, but whatever this thing is between them, it's more than a reaction to Lilly's death and Aaron Echolls' betrayal.

_Ding_.

The elevator. God. She can't breathe. She can't do anything but stare at the doors.

Logan turns sideways to get through the elevator doors before they open all the way, his eyes finding her instantly. She only has time for one shuddering breath and then he's there, looming over her with those hands of his dancing along her bare shoulders, skimming down her arms. "Logan--" He cuts off whatever idiotic thing she was about to say, wrapping her tight in his arms and kissing her.

And it's not an introductory kiss or a welcome home kiss or even an apologetic kiss -- it's hot and desperate, and her fingers curl tight into his rumpled dress shirt, pulling his dangling bow tie free by accident. His tongue tastes like champagne, and his fingers trail across the exposed skin of her back until she shivers. Logan makes a sound halfway between a moan and a whimper, and urges her backwards until her shoulder blades hit the wall and she gasps into his mouth.

"Veronica," he mutters, backing off just far enough to press kisses along my jaw. "God, Veronica."

"I know," she answers, but she doesn't even know what she means, can't process anything but the feel of him after months of bitterness and worry. She wraps her arms around his neck, letting his bow tie dangle from her fingers as she buries her face in his neck and inhales. It's amazing how much she missed this, and much she didn't know she missed it until now. He smells the same -- expensive cologne and alcohol.

"Don't leave," he murmurs, pressing feverish kisses along her shoulder, his voice shaking just a little bit. "Please, Veronica, don't leave me."

The plaintive note in his voice breaks something inside of her. He may be drunk, but he means every word. She leans back as much as she can with his body pinning her to the wall, reaching up to frame his face in her hands. He's evasive, his gaze avoiding hers until she says his name. "I won't," she tells him, and she means it. People suck, and they hurt you, and they leave you when you need them the most. She's learned to be careful who she trusts to stay, who she chooses to let in. When she wasn't paying attention, Logan made his way onto her short list, and she's no good at declarations but she needs him to understand. "I won't leave."

His eyes are suspiciously wet as he jerks a nod, his hands tightening on her waist. So she kisses him again. His knee slides between her thighs, and she's on her tiptoes, unable to bear any space between them.

"God," Madison Sinclair's unmistakable voice cuts right into their blissful oblivion. "Get a room. Oh, I forgot -- you probably can't afford to entertain your _boyfriends_ in an expensive hotel like this."

She can feel Logan's entire body tense as he begins to pull away. Her fingers dig into his back, willing him to hold still. She kisses him sweetly. "Don't."

Logan shakes his head, frustrated and breathing hard with a mixture of lust and anger. "But she's--"

"A heinous bitch," she suggests, pitching her voice loud enough for the bitch in question to hear.

"Or are you making Logan pay for the hotel room, too?" Madison snarks, and she doesn't even have to look at her to picture the expression on her face.

Logan arms are corded steel under Veronica's hands, and she just holds on tighter, leaning her head to the side to nail Madison with a knowing look. "Why don't you call the Sheriff, Madison? Share your insight with the law. I'm sure he'd run right over to give you a _working over_ -–"

"Whatever," Madison interrupts loudly, her face flushing. "Why don't you take him to some skanky motel on _your_ side of town?"

It takes Logan a second, and then his eyes go wide and his head whips around to watch Madison storm off. "Wait," he says, turning back to Veronica. "Madison and-–"

"I know people," she reminds him, brushing her hands down his arms. He's still clearly pissed off, and she can't have that. "I don't care what she thinks." He frowns, searching her face for... well, she's not sure what he's looking for, but she knows when he kisses her forehead that he's found it.

"Okay." Leaning closer, Logan wraps his arms around her waist and picks her up without warning. She can't help the surprised yelp, but he just shrugs and gives her that shit-eating smirk of his. "You're so short."

"Did you ever think that maybe you're just freakishly tall?" she shoots back.

He leans against her, effectively pinning her to the wall with her feet dangling a couple of inches off the ground. It feels really, really good, his body pressed tight against hers.

"So," Logan asks, his gaze dropping repeatedly to the neckline of her dress. Curious, she chances a peak and, wow, their position is doing some impressive things for her near non-existent cleavage. "What do you think?" Logan asks.

Since she has no earthly idea what he's talking about, she can't possibly answer. "Think about what?"

He ducks his head, pressing kisses along her cheek. "Me," he mumbles shyly. "Us. This."

She considers his question for a moment. There are a lot of perfectly good reasons for her to leave him, to end this and never look back. He was right when he said they could easily drift apart this summer -- they don't, after all, run in the same circles. Well, unless David Boreanaz suddenly starts inviting her to his Hollywood parties. Not that she remembers Logan going surfing with David Boreanaz or anything, but whatever.

Logan tenses against her and he eases back, guiding her back to the floor. He stares down at her, his eyes begging. "Veronica?"

No one has ever said her name with quite the same mixture of affection, lust, and uncertainty. Logan was horrible to her for a year, he's said terrible, awful things (and slept with terrible, awful people), and he has a tendency to use his status to get his way. But under all of that is the sweet, surprisingly sensitive guy who would bleed himself dry if she asked him. The depth of his devotion to her still scares her, but she's finally starting to understand that her devotion to him? A little scary-deep, too.

Her life would probably be so much simpler if she could just walk away from him, but it would also be a lot less enjoyable. He makes the highs higher and the lows _terrible_ , but she hates being bored most of all. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, she steps forward and twines her arms around his neck. "I think," she answers, using her best teasing tone, "that we should get a room."

Logan's eyes widen comically, and in pretty much any other circumstance, she would be mocking him. "What?" he splutters, even as his hands land low on her hips.

"We," she repeats, enunciating each word with precision, "should get a room." She punctuates her suggestion by leaning in and nibbling on his neck. She can feel his reaction and it makes her grin against his skin.

"But I have the suite," he points out, a little unsteadily.

"There are many, many drunken high school seniors in your suite right now," she counters, always the logical one. His dazed expression just makes this more fun. It's not particularly easy to leave Logan Echolls speechless.

"Veronica-–"

She cuts off his feeble protest with a kiss. "I don't think you're going to want an audience."

His eyes go dark and he sucks in a breath. "God."

"No," she answers, shaking her head with affected disappointment. " _Veronica_. Geez."

He cracks a smile, one hand slipping along her back, dipping beneath the edge of her dress. "You sure?"

God, if she wasn't before, she would be now. The goosebumps along her skin should really be answer enough, but she knows he's trying to be a gentleman. "It's alternaprom night. The least we can do is live the stereotype."

He rolls his eyes. "Dear Diary, Tonight after prom I plan to let my sweetiemuffin peel my perfectly cut designer dress from my trembling body and do all manner of sinful things-–"

Laughing, she leans up and silences him with a kiss. "Smartass."

Logan tilts his head in smug agreement, his fingers tracing designs on her back.

"But you got one small detail wrong." She lowers her voice and pushes up onto her tiptoes, whispering directly into his ear. "I plan to let my sweetiemuffin peel my dress off _with his teeth_ , and then I plan to do all manner of sinful things to _his_ trembling body." She leans back, extricating herself from him with some difficulty, considering the way his entire body just went rigid. Seriously, she shouldn't be enjoying his open-mouthed shock this much. From a safe distance, she carefully smoothes her dress, then uses his elbow to turn him toward the front desk. "Now go."

He makes an inarticulate choking noise, so she smacks his ass for good measure. Seriously. Great ass. Plus, the look he shoots her over his shoulder is priceless. If she's reading him right, he's torn between laughing and tearing her dress off. Point, Veronica.

She moves toward the elevator doors, standing demurely as she watches Logan's pathetic attempts to straighten up as he reaches the front desk. He apparently doesn't notice that his shirt is still partially untucked and his suspenders are dangling down his thighs. The transaction doesn't take long, and she really does try not to grin stupidly at the back of his head the whole time he’s away from her. She's not deluded enough to think she succeeded.

The way he struts his way back to her sets her to laughing. She really, really missed this -- the lighthearted Logan with his sexual innuendo and his kindness. He flashes the keycard at her and waggles his eyebrows. "We," he announces, offering his arm with an exaggerated bow, "have an _incredible_ second-floor view of the office park next door."

"Oooh." She laces her arm through his and steps onto the waiting elevator. "You sure do know how to treat a girl right." Logan's playful expression falls a little at that, and she turns into his arms. "You do," she tells him seriously. They've done a lot of damage to each other over the past couple years, but he has to know she wouldn't be here if he wasn't a good man. "You do treat me right."

He doesn't seem to believe her at first, but then he gives her that lopsided grin. "I do my best," he answers breezily, leaning in for a lingering kiss.

The elevator doors slide open and she peels herself away from him, holding out her hand. "Coming?" As soon as the word leaves her mouth, Veronica groans and covers her face with one hand. Her father would call that a hanging slider right over the plate. She doesn't expect Logan to let it pass.

"Almost too easy," Logan tells her, smirking all the while, "but I believe the proper response would be 'Repeatedly, I hope.'"

"Okay," she answers with a mock sigh. "Guess we better get started, then."

"Guess so," Logan answers, his smile genuine and a little bit shy. She can't quite keep up the world-weary act when Logan takes her hand and follows her off the elevator.

THE END

 


End file.
